


Kisses are a better fate than wisdom

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened in the tent during the last few days of filming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses are a better fate than wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: revival filming (August 2015)  
> A/N: Well. There's a line I can't uncross.  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The scene cuts and they let her go for the moment, everyone busy with their own tasks, absorbed in the work. "Don't go too far," someone says, but she isn't really listening. She walks toward the tent and brushes the flap aside with one hand. The fabric drapes heavily over her arm. She steps into the hush and dim of the space that's only theirs. His eyes are the brightest light, though there are lamps. He opens his arms and she walks out of her shoes and into his embrace.

They've been here before, not in this tent, but in this place, this happy ending, maybe not for the characters, exactly, but for the show. She remembers handing the baby off to someone and the way he looked at her, the way she knew exactly. They held each other then too, in that brightly lit imitation of a bedroom, and didn't say a word. They have always struggled to put words to this thing between them. It's the way in which they're most like Mulder and Scully, their unlikely alter egos.

She lays her ear against his chest to hear his heartbeat. He's worn different colognes over the years, the scent of him spicy or mellow, and he's worn different shirts, cotton crisp or soft against her cheek, but his heartbeat never changes. He tucks his chin against her hair and sighs. She thinks they're swaying slightly, dancing to some unheard music, but maybe that's just the way the world turns under their feet. 

She has never found peace anywhere like this peace. She has never felt at home the same way in anyone else's arms.

"We always come back," she murmurs.

"We always do," he agrees. 

Part of it's Vancouver, where everything began, but most of it's the way they have always fit together, the jagged edges of their personalities slotting together like puzzle pieces clicking into place. What a miracle that out of so many billion people, they found each other. Her memory of the episodes is spotty - too many words crammed into her head, too many hours teetering on heels and apple boxes - but she remembers in the baseball episode the way he whispered into her ear about the world fading away around them, and she wonders if he knew even then what the future held. She likes to think he did. She likes to believe in the thing he said once in an interview, that it was kismet when they met, that this was all meant to happen.

It's such a cliché, all of it: coworkers with a deep connection, the music of his heart, the still center they only find in each other. But somehow it's new and old, fresh and worn-in all at the same time. The magic of it withstands all their uncertainty. There were bad years, but this thing endured, and sparks flew whenever their fingers touched. It has been good, and so easy, for some time now. She doesn't know when the sea change happened; one day they were just like this, as if this was the way they had always been together, sweet and simple.

She tips her face up and he kisses her, barely. Makeup will get very sardonic and snappy if they smudge their faces, or if they have to dab her lipstick off his face again, but she needs these sips of him, these little glancing kisses that are hardly more than his breath against her skin. Rain patters on the roof of the tent and she is so happy, and so sad, aching and breathless and blissful. Chris may not let Scully kiss Mulder, but Gillian can indulge in kissing David, if not to the point of satiation. Maybe later she will have her fill of him, back in her bedroom, or maybe she won't. They make these moments enough somehow, feast out of famine. They have been lucky this summer, or blessed, or destined; she knows better than to question the provenance of a gift like this at this point in her life.

She could ask him if this is goodbye (she knows it isn't). She could speak of the possibility of more of this, more hours in the rain, under the lights, wearing her Scully suit, and her painful Scully wig (but she won't). It is enough just to be here, David and Gillian wearing Mulder and Scully's clothes, David and Gillian with their arms wrapped tightly around each other in the quiet of the space the world has made for them.


End file.
